WEEK 32: Don’t hold your breath

Prompted by: Leto

Something must’ve gone down.

Something big.

Because the damn coward wouldn’t look me in the eye.

Instead, he touched my shoulder like it was made of glass, gently tracing the fresh, angry scar with bloodstained fingertips. Then pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead before placing a hand on the small of my back and ushering me down the hallway. Once we were outside, he set the safe house on fire behind us, letting it burn to the ground as we drove away. Without exchanging another word.

And that was fine by me. In fact, it was better than fine.

It was perfect.

I had nothing to say to him anyway. But when the bastard’s thumb started tapping a steady rhythm against the smooth leather steering wheel of his overpriced, pompous beast of a sedan…

I simply couldn’t take anymore and snapped, “Cut it out.”

More tapping.

I wasn’t entirely sure why but, “That’s really fucking annoying.”

The tapping ceased, followed by a long stretch of silence.

Tense, awkward, fully loaded silence.

Finally, so low that I could barely decipher the words, “He’s sorry.”

My irritation quadrupled immediately. “For what?”

Even lower, “Everything.”

“Shut up, Slick.”

“He wanted me to tell you that…”

“Just shut up,” I cut him off abruptly, my voice almost cracking with desperation. Almost. I put a stop to that son of a bitch and continued calmly, “If the asshole wants to apologize, he can do it himself.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Fear seized my windpipe, causing me to stutter, “But you said that…that he was still…that he’s not…”

As I floundered helplessly, strong fingers wrapped around my thigh. Gave it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, Iz. He’s not dead,” my brother-in-law laughed wryly. “At least he wasn’t when I left.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, I brushed his hand away and growled, “Then don’t say stupid shit like that.”

He glanced over at me with an odd smile.

“What?”

Then turned his attention back to the road.

“What?”

At last, he murmured, “You won’t hear an apology from him anytime soon.”

My brows furrowed together in confusion.

“Or ever.”

A paralyzing surge of panic coursed through my veins. I clenched my teeth and rode out the nauseating wave.

Is he on life support? Completely brain-dead? A fucking vegetable?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

No reply.

“Slick…”

“He can’t speak anymore.”

Holy fuck.

What’s the prompt for next week, guys? 

Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.